


Something Olde

by jack_inaboxx



Series: crack in the glass [11]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:13:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24560599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_inaboxx/pseuds/jack_inaboxx
Summary: She doesn't think they exist.At least, she's never seen one. Yet.
Series: crack in the glass [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774129





	Something Olde

**Author's Note:**

> And another older piece. This is one that I made with the help of someone I'll call M. Maddi is M's character. M and I wrote this story together, and I have her permission to post this. 
> 
> Most of this isn't canon to this universe anymore, but this is still a universe I work in a fair bit- one of my own, called 'do not seek absolution'. Still; M and I had a lot of fun making this, and I felt it deserved posting.

Don’t go off the Paths. That’s the first thing they teach you, when you’re a kid- don’t leave the Paths, or They’ll get you. The Things That Were, the Creatures of the Night, all the fantasy-monsters; werewolves, vampires, harpies, faeries, and worse. 

Some even swear there’s dragons, in the Deepwoods. 

That’s the important thing; sometimes, at certain times of the year, you can go a little ways in. There’s a few stages of Woods; there’s the Edge, that’s just off the Path, maybe a few trees in the way, but only one or two at most. This is safe for experienced travelers, except during the Solstices, but nowhere is safe then. 

After the Edge is the Thicket, which is the furthest anyone has been able to map. Nobody who goes in there comes back out alive. It’s a miracle it was mapped at all; no one’s quite sure how it happened. But the maps are there, and so nobody cares.

The last, and the most dangerous, are the Deepwoods. They’re the furthest in, the furthest away, the forgotten-places. There isn’t a town within three hundred miles of the Deepwoods. The tales say they’re dark and quiet, eerie and haunted. They say some monsters are even afraid to stray into the Deepwoods, and that only the darkest creatures reside there. 

It’s funny; just over a century ago, nobody believed in fairytales. Now, they’re a terrifying reality. Some folks have adapted to them; there are the Hunters, who are those that sensed a new profession and made it their business to kill Creatures and their ilk. There are the Traders, who sell Creature pelts or feathers.

Then… then there are Wardens.

Wardens are something else, myth and predator-creature and human all at once, something even the Hunters fear. Some say the Wardens are the deepest connected to the Old Magic that runs through the world; some say only a few have that privilege. 

The Wardens and the Hunters skirt warily around one another, circling like wolves, striking out, each attempting to tip the balance in the territories. 

Neither succeed; they seem to have fallen into an uneasy cease-fire, in recent years. 

It’s well known that Wardens have certain connections, to the creatures they call their allies, their hearts, a part of their soul; sometimes birds, sometimes wolves, sometimes something a little more unnatural. All, though, have some sort of mount. It’s said you can tell the story of a Warden by their mount.

Most have simple mounts; brown or some other earth-shade. They are the most common.

Then there are grey mounts; they are the ones that slip through existence, unnoticed and forgotten, lost to time and reality. They are the most fey, the ones furthest from understanding.

White mounts are the greatest Wardens, the purest. They are the ones everyone knows, seen throughout the continent, fearless and kind.

Then are the black mounts. Little is known about them; some say they’re the darkest ones. Some say they are the ones who have lost something, and others say they are the ones who have lost themselves. Some say they’re becoming something worse. The only certain thing about them is that they have the strongest connection to the Old Magic. 

Personally, Madeleine Prescott thinks they don’t exist. She’s never seen one. 

She’s also rather lost.

She’s not quite sure how she managed to leave the Path - she’d been very careful, after all - but here she was, stuck in the woods, not near the Path, nor, she suspects, even just the Edge.

She’s in the Thicket.

Panicking won’t do any good; she tries to calm down. It’s not working; the woods give off a feeling of terror, uneasiness, danger. It’s absolutely silent except for an intermittent high whistling sound, like someone blowing a high note through a wooden flute. Sometimes a non-existent breeze causes everything around her to rustle. Conversely, sometimes there is a strong wind, and yet nothing moves. She can see snow in some places, despite the fact that it’s barely first frost. Broken branches and fallen logs lay scattered on the ground. The trees around her are ancient, some with leaves almost down to the ground, some with wide canopies stretching out. Some are tall and thin, with leaves in bunches at the very top, old gnarled trunks stretching so high into the air that if you fell from one, you’d probably die if you hit the ground. Or impale yourself on one of the spindly, almost-broken branches. Or catch the attention of a Thing That Was. 

None of the Things That Were have found her yet, but she’s not expecting that to last long. Taking a few deep breaths, she tries to remember which way the Path was. She can’t.

“Why are you here?”

Maddi jumps, almost, almost shrieks, and her horse skitters to the side. There’s a man (she thinks) behind her, riding bareback on a midnight black horse, wearing strange clothes. His face is hidden by a cowl and a cloth mask covers his nose and mouth. From what she can see, he has tan skin, and an oddly golden glint of what might be his eyes under the cowl. She can make out a lock of dark hair, either dark brown or black, falling over his forehead. 

“Who are you?” she asks, trying to calm her racing heart.

“No one,” he says, tilting his head slowly, “Why are you here?”

“I got lost,” she answers. Briefly, she wonders if that was the smartest thing to say to the stranger, if he’s a monster, but she supposes that she’s already lost. 

“You should not have left the Path. It is not safe.” He frowns at her, as though he is disappointed. Part of her feels offended. 

“I _know_! I didn’t _mean_ to. It just… happened,” she trails off. He stares at her for a moment, head still tilted, before urging his thin, bony mount (seriously, she can see it’s ribs) into a gentle trot. It makes no sound. 

“The Path leads to a… community, this way. In future, do not let the Lights lead you astray. They will lure you into the depths of the Woods and drive you mad, if Those That Were don’t get you first.”

She turns her horse to follow. After all, she’s already lost- if all this… thing (she’s now sure that it isn’t a man) is doing is leading her away to eat her, well, what else can she do, really? It’s this thing or something else, possibly something worse. 

After a minute or so, the trees thin out a little, and then suddenly they are on the Path again. 

“If you go that way, there is a small settlement,” it says, slowing it’s mount to a stop. She stops beside it, a little ahead. 

“Okay, but who are-” she begins to ask, turning only to see the back of it and it’s mount fading into the shadows of the forest. Now she knows for certain; neither it nor it’s mount are human. 

Shivering, and not from the cold that has frost beginning to set in, she turns away and starts down the Path in the direction it had indicated. 


End file.
